


Dark wizards never die

by Drotaku50



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: AU, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Relationships, Crossover, Gen, Hogwarts, Magic, Merlin/harrypotter crossover, Time Travel, Voldemort is dead, merlin at hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-04-04 20:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14028414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drotaku50/pseuds/Drotaku50
Summary: On the night of Halloween, lily and James potter sacrificed their lives to defeat Lord Voldemort. He was vanquished forever, but in the wake of his death, dedicated cultists decided to continue his legacy.11 years later, Merlin is catapulted into the future by a mysterious force of magic and is now stuck in his 11 year old body. He is forced to attend the strange school of hogwarts, intent on solving the mystery surrounding his arrival there, all the while keeping his true identity a secret.Meanwhile dark forces intent on upholding Voldemort’s legacy interfere with life at hogwarts. Darkness is everywhere and Merlin doesn’t know who to turn to.





	1. Dark beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like this, I wrote it pretty much on a whim so yeah. If the synopsis doesn’t make a lot of sense, it’s basically a merlin and Harry Potter crossover fic.

Two figures appeared with a loud crack on the dimmed London streets, their dark cloaks billowing furiously as they walked. The figures almost blended into the background, as the street was lit with only a few meagre lamps, allowing them a cover of almost complete darkness. 

It was perfect.

They walked with a hurried pace down the cobbled road, talking in hushed voices as they went, the pouring rain not deterring them from whatever task lay ahead of them. The task must have been extremely important as they were walking extremely fast; their silhouettes blurred against the skyline. It wasn’t until another figure stepped out from the shadows and pulled them violently through a shop door, that the cloaked beings were finally halted.

“What are you thinking Severus?” The new voice hissed, gripping the neck of the nearest figure’s cloak, pulling their face close to his. “You could have exposed us all!”

“Get a grip Pertrude, you know we aren’t as careless as the rest.” Severus snarled in reply, batting Pertrude’s hand off his cloak, his face contorting into an expression of disgust at the man’s slimy fingers touching It. His cloak was worth more than that man’s life, so for Pertrude to even lay a finger on it was a downright insult. 

Pertrude winced at the gesture, slinking towards the woman who stood on Severus’ left, her feminine features only slightly illuminated by the candles which floated above her head. 

“Ella my dear, you of all people must understand the risks...” He wrung his hands together nervously, his confidence from earlier quickly dissipating. He looked expectantly to Ella, her blank expression transforming into such distaste, it perfectly mirrored that of Severus’. 

“You, of all people...” Ella began, mocking his previous tone, “should understand the importance of our mission! You pulling us in here and away from the task at hand jeopardises everything!”

Pertrude, beginning to understand, began to back away, his hands in the air and a terrified expression etched onto his face. He knew all to well that he had crossed a line, a line that many didn’t come back from alive. “Well it was just my misunderstanding, I was only doing what I thought was best for the dark lord.” Laughing nervously, he suddenly found himself pinned up against the wall, two menacing looking wands pointing at his throat. “Honestly, I thought I was doing the right thing! Please Severus! We were friends once, no?” 

Severus growled at this, jabbing his wand against the man’s voice box, spitting down at the man’s filthy shoes. “Don’t even dare make such an accusation, you filthy squib. I never was your friend and I never will be. Learn your place in the world.” Pertrude whimpered, nodding his head furiously. 

“I will, oh dear Severus, I will!” The genuine gratitude in his voice was immensely grating; and as Severus removed his wand from the Squib’s voice box, he muttered a curse under his breath. And he hoped to God it would hurt like hell. 

A blinding red flash erupted within the shop, sending vials and books flying. Ella covered her eyes from the blast, a small smile erupting from her lips as the after affects of the curse slowly wore off. “You surprise me Severus, I didn’t think something so meagre as a thankyou could set that temper of yours off.”

“Well the dark lord would never have allowed such filth to ruin our plans like he just did. I was going to dispose of him afterwards anyway.”

Ella giggled, covering her mouth in the most ladylike way possible, making it all that more sadistic. “Glad to hear” she remarked, wondering why their masters even attempted to reason with the likes of Pertrude. She guessed it was because they had connections - but even they wore out their use eventually. 

Suddenly noticing Severus walking away, Ella skippedd out after him, laughing as she caught up. “So, what now?” Severus merely grunted in reply and with a loud crack, the street was empty once more. 

 

——————————————

The boy awoke with a start, beads of sweat streaming down his forehead. He had had a nightmare - again, another strange one which made so little sense it scared him. Dark shadowy figures were a constant in his life nowadays; they plagued his waking and sleeping hours. It was honestly a miracle he was even alive. 

Hauling himself out of bed, he pulled on a jumper and scarf, before slowly trudging towards the bathroom. He knew he looked awful, the constant torture of nightmares and late nights were getting to him more than they should. But for some unexplained reason, he found looking in a mirror a source of comfort. He guessed it was because it reminded him he was still alive, but he could never be quite sure. 

Gazing into the mirror, he tousled his black hair slightly, not that it needed it, it was just another routinely comfort he had fallen into since arriving here. It didn’t help much, he couldn’t help but feel ‘off’ almost all the time. He presumed the change in environment was affecting him in ways he couldn’t yet comprehend, but it wasn’t the feeling that concerned him the most; it was what the feeling was doing to him.

Staring even more intently, he remarked his blue- grey eyes, watching for that tiny change that happened whenever he lost control. That flash of gold which appeared whenever he performed magic. 

A glass shattered on the shelf nearest to him. 

It had happened again - he had lost control. It was stupid reallly, to let his emotions overtake his magic, but so much had happened in the last month he no longer felt the powerful warlock who had defeated Morgana’s army in one fell sweep. He felt like a child. 

 

After all, he was one.

Merlin, the great and powerful warlock of Athurian legend was stuck in his eleven-year-old self’s body, roughly a thousand years in the future.

Just perfect.


	2. order of merlin, first class

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to anyone who has started following this fanfiction, not long after the upload of my first chapter my laptop broke and exams started to kick in, so they took priority. I am now on my summer holidays so I am able to spend more time on this. I will try and update at least every two weeks, but do note my time management is atrocious.

The sound of a door closing downstairs awoke merlin from his dazed state. He was more aware of his surroundings than ever, his magic haywire and jumping around him at every slight noise. It didn’t help that he was an eleven-year-old boy living by himself, above an inn which he knew nothing about.

Back in Camelot most would have turned a blind eye to a child so young living alone; parents were often killed by disease or bandits. Sad as it was, it wasn’t uncommon to see abandoned children. However, in this century, Merlin had noticed people weren’t so passive about lost children. In fact, when he had been found lying on the floor in the centre of the street, his body broken and bloody, more people had fussed over him than he could ever remember.

It was a strange feeling, being fussed over. It’s not as if back at home he was never cared about or looked after. Arthur almost obsessively worried about him, even though he would never admit to it.

Merlin smiled to himself thinking about Arthur, he cast his mind back to his laugh, the very particular laugh which was almost always directed at him for some measure of stupidity. Merlin let out a sigh. Heck, if Arthur knew what a legend they both had become in the future; people basically had shrines for them. Merlin supposed he would laugh, scolding him for ‘reading more of Gaius’ bedtime stories’, probably following up that statement by throwing a goblet or something. Merlin often got goblets thrown at him. Well, in his past life anyway. In this new version of reality there wasn’t any Arthur for that to happen, Merlin just had himself for company.

Slowly walking out of the bathroom, he waited for the familiar knock at the door from Tom, the innkeeper and bartender. Tom was doing a strange job of looking after Merlin, attending to his needs and giving him free food courtesy of the inn’s chefs. Merlin used to think it was rather strange, given that he was a complete stranger, but then he remembered how he had woken up and supposed the innkeeper had a soft spot for young children who randomly turned up on his doorstop.

“Merlin?” A low, masculine voice rang, rapping on the door. “I brought you some breakfast, I supposed you were hungry. If you could just open the door so I can pass it to you, it’d be greatly appreciated!” Merlin smiled, it was Tom. “Yeah sure, I’ll be right out.” He replied in his high, unbroken voice which he still couldn’t quite get used to. Composing himself, he unlatched the hook on the door and swung it open. He was greeted with the tall, plump figure of Tom the bartender. He was a smiley chap with grey curls of hair poking out from behind his ears. “Hello Merlin.”

“Hello Tom. Is that my breakfast?” Merlin pointed to the wooden tray Tom was carrying, laden with various breads and strange bowls of oats people seemed to call ‘cereal’.

Tom grinned, passing him the tray, leaning down close so he was just in Merlin’s earshot. “You should know there’s a man downstairs to see you. He might be able to answer a few questions you might have.” Leaning back up, leaving a confused Merlin standing there with a tray full of food, Tom winked at him. “Enjoy your breakfast!” And with that he left.

Merlin’s mouth was agape. He couldn’t possibly know about him, could he? This man, who was he? What did he want with him? Gripping the sides of the tray so tight his knuckles whitened, he tried to keep his breathing steady. He was on the verge of a panic attack; Tom’s cryptic words and the man waiting for him downstairs were quickly eating away at his composure. This past month had ridden on his ability to act, and suddenly he could feel the act falling apart. Was it not good enough? Was the man downstairs responsible for his situation?

There were so many factors in play, Merlin didn’t know where to turn to. His composure was falling and breath was quickening violently, he did the only thing he knew he could do, abruptly turning around and slamming the door behind him. Milk spilt down his front, but he couldn’t care less. All he knew was that his cover was most likely blown and he could do nothing about it.

He pressed himself against the door, trying to calm his breathing. His breakfast tray lay on the floor at his feet, forgotten, the glass of milk tipped over, its contents soaking into the rugged carpet. He focused on the spilt milk, trying to find an object to focus on, as he could feel his magic rising up around him. The last thing he wanted was another incident, but no matter how hard he tried, his magic continued to rise in power, boiling and frothing around him.

His world was collapsing, he had been in it for mere months, maybe even weeks, and already his secret was out. All those years hiding it in Camelot, not once revealing it, but in this world, all it took was one moment of weakness. It didn’t seem right, it wasn’t right. Behind him, the wooden door was rattling, threatening to burst from its hinges, his magic exploding out of him, merciless with whatever it touched. The objects in the room were floating around randomly, and merlin was sure he was soon to attract attention. Holding his head in his hands, Merlin held his fingers in his ears, trying to block out all reality. It didn’t work, he was hopeless, everything was ending.

A knock sounded. A formal rap, knocking thrice upon the rattling wood.

This was it, it was all over, he would be sent away and burnt at the stake, or whatever horrific alternative they had in this universe. He held his head tight, waiting for the sword to be driven through his back, for the bandit to throw him in a sack and take him away.

But none of that happened.

A pair of soft wrinkled hands, cupped themselves under his chin, lifting his face from between his knees. His magic had calmed, an air of peace instantly falling on room, the door stopped rattling and all Merlin could comprehend was a tall, bearded old man, peering inquisitively over the top of his half-moon spectacles. The man had a friendly face, his face extremely wrinkled, yet gave off an atmosphere of ultimate power and wisdom; as if he contained more wisdom than merlin himself.

“Emrys.” A wise old voice emitted from the man’s mouth, yet Merlin still found himself shocked to hear this man say his true name. “My name Is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, first class order of Merlin – your name.”

Merlin’s mouth dropped open in shock. Who was this man? How much did he know? A growing well of anxiety built up inside him, yet something within him told him that there was nothing to fear, the man gave off an air of unconditional kindness. “What?” was all Merlin could manage to utter, his mind was freezing up, completely dumbstruck. “You have nothing to fear. I have come to you with an offer. An offer of security and safety, something which I believe you need dearly.” Merlin merely replied with silence, allowing the man to go on. “I suppose you are wondering how I know. Well, I guess it just came to me one night as I was sleeping. Suddenly I found myself thinking, _The_ Merlin, from the Arthurian legend is occupying the same space as me. And I have to meet him. You see, it just happened, I mean, I myself practice the magical arts, albeit differently to how the legends describe yours. But I digress, I must be boring you to death.”

In fact, Merlin was the opposite, he was hanging on to Dumbledore’s every word. A lifeline had been posed to him, and he was more than ready to listen. Despite not wanting to outright trust the man, something about Dumbledore made him want to trust him. “Y-you practice the magical arts? As in the old religion?” Merlin managed to stutter. “I do, if that’s what you want to call it.” Dumbledore replied warmly. He spread his hands, as if a gesture of his kindness, “You see,” he began, “I run a school, a school for witches and wizards from the ages of eleven to eighteen. You following?” Merlin nodded, frankly fascinated by prospect. “What I am offering you, is a place. After all, you do appear to be eleven years old.”

“No better way to rub it in than to spell it out like that.” Merlin laughed, frowning solemnly. “But I can’t refuse an offer such as that.”

Despite the constant nagging doubt which clawed its way from Merlin’s stomach, he still could not help trusting this man. He was, if anything; excited for this apparent school of the old ways. He also, wanted nothing more than to ask this Dumbledore how on earth his presence had come to him one night, but, he presumed it must be similar to how the druids could always sense him.

“Well then, that will be all from me.” He smiled again, rising from his position on the floor, his robes waving around his feet majestically. Merlin found himself fascinated for a few moments, before realising Dumbledore was leaving. He got up quickly, turning towards the opening door. “Dumbledore!” The man faced him, smiling once more. “What is it?”

Merlin stumbled, struggling for words. “What now?”

“ah,” Dumbledore sighed lightly, “I will be sending one of our professors round in a few days, they will explain more.” He motioned to leave the room once more, but paused, stopping himself, “Also, I think it would be best if you call me professor from now on. Be best not to tell anyone about _this._ ” And with that, he left.

Merlin was left, dumbfounded and immensely surprised, sitting on the wooden floorboards, surrounded by several smashed objects, which he decided should probably be cleaned up. He suspected Tom would come in his room later and probably worry what on earth had happened here. The last thing Merlin wanted was more awkward encounters. He had been left with a lot to think over, and having run into a rather hasty decision, practicing his magic with a simple cleaning spell was the perfect way to do that.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like this chapter! The third chapter is now in the works. Please comment what you thought and any feedback.


	3. The wand chooses the wizard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this new chapter. I have edited it since the original upload, so I would recommend rereading it if you want to.

Merlin was just in the process of returning an odd, dusty vase to its place on the shelf, when another knock sounded at the door. Merlin growled under his breath, “Come in!”

“Ah, sorry to have disturbed you, but have you finished with your breakfast?” It was Tom. Merlin breathed a sigh of relief, he was so on edge now his secret was out against his will to some random old man. There was still a significant nag which plagued him, such as how Dumbledore knew and how the hell he got to this land? Although he knew this was not the time to cast doubts, he had learnt from plenty of experience in Camelot that casting doubts could land him in a lot of trouble.

“Yes, I wasn’t very hungry though.” He replied. Tom merely nodded and backed out of the room. Merlin sighed, placing the vase on the shelf and flopping on his bed. Everything was such a mess. All he could do was continue lurking in the leaky cauldron, often sitting at the bar and listening to the old bartender’s stories.

Several days passed and Merlin was beginning to get bored. He began to grow tired of the same old customers dressed in funny robes and pointed hats, buying the same old drinks and reciting the same old tales. He was merely pacing round his room, probably looking like a mardy little boy, trying to pass the time whilst waiting for this ‘professor’, whatever one was.

Eventually; roughly three days later, Tom knocked at his door, announcing that there was a professor waiting for him downstairs. Merlin shot up instantly, trying not to look too eager as to arouse suspicion, but a nervous grin was still plastered on his face. He presumed it must look normal for an eleven-year-old boy, although he wasn’t too sure he could remember being eleven.

Hastily pulling a scarf around his neck, Merlin shot out the door, virtually shoving past the shocked bartender. He raced down the stairs and into the light throng of the morning leaky cauldron customers, not caring as he knocked a couple of chairs over in his rushing. A woman was waiting for him, her arms folded and a scowl etched on her face. Merlin was curious as to why she was scowling but didn’t overly feel like pressing this woman; she held an air not unlike Dumbledore; of wisdom and power. Although it wasn’t quite the same, Merlin felt she had considerable power up her sleeve.

The woman waved at the chair opposite her, motioning for Merlin to sit down. It was another thing he would have to get used to in this world – people being polite to him. Back in Camelot, he would never have been asked to sit down in front of someone of importance, being a servant, he was required to stand up at all times. Although he supposed he would have to take the pleasantries in his stride if he was going to at all blend in.

Taking the seat, he tapped his fingers nervously on the wooden table, keeping his gaze fixed on the woman in front of him. He supposed she was a ‘professor’. Maybe that was why she wore such an odd pointed hat, maybe that’s why the whole inn wore pointed hats. Maybe this world was just full of professors.

The sound of snapping fingers pulled him out of his daze. He noticed he was staring at the ceiling, probably not the politest way to greet a professor, but after all, he was an eleven-year-old boy. “Merlin!” the woman exclaimed, “Snap out of it!” Her voice was sharp and demanding. He instantly responded, fearing the woman may already hate him. She sighed, holding her head in her hands. “Dumbledore has told me great things about you, I must say I expected better.” Sighing again, she continued, “My name is Professor McGonagall, I was sent by Professor Dumbledore, who you have already met.”

Merlin, deciding he could no longer stay in the dark and allow these ‘professors’ to tell him what to do, interjected before she had chance to speak again, “What is a professor? You see, I’m not exactly from here, and Dumbledore sort of left me hanging in the dark for several days.” He tried to explain lightly, wishing to hold up his guise of a lost boy. If he told her everything he truly thought, then he would look extremely out of place. McGonagall appeared to look frustrated, she clearly wasn’t the type to pander to questions. “I’m a teacher, a teacher at Hogwarts school for witchcraft and wizardry – I’m sure you must know what a teacher is?” Merlin nodded in understanding, leaning back on his chair nervously. He wasn’t sure he liked McGonagall’s attitude.

“I have been instructed by Dumbledore to take you on a trip to Diagon Alley to buy your school supplies, I’m presuming you still want to attend. And seen as you have no family or money, you will be covered by the school’s funding for disadvantaged students.”

“Disadvantaged? That’s what I am?” Merlin exclaimed.

“Hold your tongue Merlin, might I remind you, you are talking to a _professor._ ” McGonagall snapped. Merlin had to resist the urge to make some witty comeback, reminding himself he was not in Camelot anymore. “Anyway, we are to make haste, I am under significant time pressure, I find I have one other student in a similar position to visit this afternoon. Come on, chop, chop.”

Merlin suddenly felt the need to raise a sheepish hand, “Can I haven’t a moment to collect my stuff.” McGonagall rolled her eyes, “If you must” she replied reluctantly, “Just be quick.” Merlin seized the opportunity and by sliding off his chair and running up the staircase, he returned to his room. The room was dark and stuffy as he had closed the curtains earlier that morning, but he could still see perfectly. Left on the bed was the only physical object he had left from his life in Camelot. When he had arrived in this land, it seemed he had also arrived with Arthur's satchel, emblazoned with the symbol of Camelot. It was something of a comfort blanket to him now; so much so that when Tom had entered his room one morning to pass it to him, he had practically burst into tears - offering no explanation to the confused innkeeper. Retrieving the satchel, he hastily exited his room and returned to a quite impatient looking McGonagall. He paused briefly to take a moment to wonder about the student she had to visit this afternoon, curious as to what made him or her similar to him but decided to wave it off as McGonagall looked impatient again. Clicking her tongue, she stood up, motioning for him to follow behind her like a sheep. He hated it.

\----------------

The air was fresh, having been cooped up for ages it was nice to finally feel the breeze on his face. Although it didn’t quite compare to the open grasslands or forests which surrounded Camelot, but he supposed he would have to make do. Looking back at McGonagall, he noticed she had strolled over to a wall made of red squares; he watched as she drew a thin stick from her robe pocket and tapped the wall in precise places three times. He was about to ask what she was doing, but before he got chance, the wall opened up, stone by stone, pulling back into the neighbouring walls.

“So,” McGonagall said, “This is the magic of Diagon Alley.” She rolled her eyes, as if she had rehearsed it a thousand times over. “I know what magic is, old bat” Merlin sighed under his breath.

“Sorry, what was that Merlin?” She eyed him curiously.

“Nothing…” he breathed, defeated.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Let us continue. First things first, you need a wand. Follow on, quickly now. Ollivanders is the place to go.” She turned quickly and strode off, as if expecting Merlin to understand and follow.

Having to jog to keep up with her was not very fun, he was basically a dog yapping at her heels. “Professor, professor!” He was losing his patience, trying to get her attention was just as difficult as keeping up with her.

Eventually, they skidded to a halt outside a shop which appeared to be run down, a rickety sign hanging from the front, reading ‘ _Ollivanders wand shop_ ’. The professor now seemed to take notice of him, “We’re here, what do you want?”

“What do I need a wand for?”

“To perform magic of course,” she raised an eyebrow as if unimpressed. “Stop fretting, you will be fine. Ollivander will explain everything.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, ushering him inside the shop.

Merlin was beginning to feel panicky again, he didn’t need a wand, even in this body he was still able to perform wandless magic, his innate power had not disappeared in the slightest. If anything, it was all the more dangerous. What would happen when whatever ceremony had to be performed didn’t work? What would they think? Would he be found out? Or maybe he would be able to use a wand, but there was no way it would be able to cope with the sheer amount of magical power he possessed. He was the most powerful sorcerer to ever live, and especially now, with his power being contained in his much younger self’s body, his magic was even more volatile.

Without any warning he found himself forcefully landed inside the shop. McGonagall quickly stepped outside and left him alone with the strange old man behind the counter, his figure wispy and frail. The man looked up, peering over the top of his glasses, “Hello Merlin. Dumbledore told me of your arrival, a new student at Hogwarts it seems. Interesting…. Hmmm.” The man paused for a minute, seemingly mulling over his thoughts. This gave Merlin the opportunity to fully take in his surroundings.

The first thing he noticed was the aura within the shop. There was so much magical energy contained there, contained within the floor, the walls and the boxes which rested precariously in towers upon the shelves. The boxes were what fascinated him, it was if they contained souls; he could hear tiny whispers coming from the boxes, small and curious whispers almost like ghosts. It gave him the shivers.

Trying to ignore the atmosphere of the room, he returned his attention to the man, he presumed was Ollivander, who seemed to be staring at him with wide eyes. “Hello?” Merlin questioned, mildly confused.

“Oh,” Ollivander whispered hauntingly, “I was just trying to work out which wand to place with you. I’ve been put in a curious situation Merlin my boy. Curious indeed.”

“And why is that?” Merlin quizzed, walking up closer to the wispy man, who peered closer, leaning over him, “You’re curious. Curious indeed. So curious, I’m struggling to place you with a wand. Hmmm.” He leaned back, turning away from him and muttering to himself. Merlin merely waited, watching the man as patiently as he could.

Suddenly, Ollivander plucked a box from the closest shelf, drawing a breath as he handled it, barely touching it as if afraid of what it contained. “Now, my dear boy, take this…” He lifted it over the counter, passing it down to Merlin, carefully taking the lid off, exposing the contents within. “Now,” He breathed, “This particular wand is made from elder, with a dragon heartstring core. It’s quite springy… fifteen inches and extremely volatile.” Merlin received the wand, handling it carefully. “Now what is particularly curious about this wand, is the nature in which is was made. Not only was it made on the birth of he who must not be named, but it also passed through his fingers once. I remember it as if it was yesterday. He, like you, stood in that exact spot, young and innocent, waiting to be chosen by a wand.” Changing the tone of his voice, Ollivander brightened up, “Now,” he repeated, “Give it a little wave.”

Merlin felt a little affronted, not quite sure what to do. He was certain this wouldn’t work; a mere stick of wood would not be enough to contain power as ancient as his. Although he presumed it couldn’t hurt to humour the possibility. Picking the wand slowly out of the box, he held it within its grasp, trying to understand what it was he was supposed to do. Feeling a little foolish, he looked to Ollivander for advice. Ollivander gestured at the wand, performing a waving motion with his hands.

Supposing he had little to lose, Merlin attempted to channel his magic through the stick, feeling for the soul he had sensed earlier from the boxes. His eyes flashed yellow and he muttered a short spell under his breath, reaching for the core of the wand. Instantly, he could tell it wasn’t going to work. His magic was over a thousand years old, it seemed the nature of magic had progressed, his was raw and volatile; whereas the magic meant for the wand was gentle and caressing.

A sense of unease surrounded him, the wand clearly was not going to be able to cope with the magic he was about to channel through it, and already Merlin could feel the wand shaking within his touch. Small cracks appeared along the shaft, tiny pricks of white light filtering through.

Ollivander could not see this, no one could see this. It was wrong in this world, yet another reminder that he did not belong here. He had to act quickly, clearly Ollivander was expecting a special connection between him and the wand, something which denoted it should be his. Thinking quickly, trying not to panic, Merlin muttered a quick spell under his breath, creating golden sparks near the tip of the wand. He hoped dearly it was correct. He could not bear another minute with this man, or in this shop.

Ollivander appeared to smile, although a glint in his eye told Merlin he wasn’t entirely convinced. “Curious…” He whispered, “But, it seems this wand was destined for you my boy. Take it.” Merlin grasped the wand tightly and strode out of the shop. Although, before he closed the door behind him, Ollivander called out to him; “But, my boy… take heed, the power of this wand should not be taken for granted. _Use it wisely…”_

The bell of the wand shop rang loudly as the door slammed shut behind him, and merlin was once again left outside in the world that was Diagon Alley.


End file.
